Eight Hours
by maytheoddsPN12
Summary: Five students at Panem Central High land in Saturday morning detention: a nerd, a prep, an athlete, a badass, and a loner. A 'Breakfast Club' AU.
1. 6:53 am

This is about as full as Panem Central High's library has ever been. On a Saturday morning, no less.

Five students, sitting at separate tables, each scowling at the clock hanging on the wall or at the dingy beige carpet. Waiting for their respective prison sentences to start.

It's about to be a long fucking day.


	2. 7:00 am

Principal Snow strides into the library, his lips already creased in a preemptive sneer. Like he's expecting there to be trouble from at least one of these delinquents.

He took a glance at the attendance sheet in his office. Only five kids on the list this weekend, which is an unusually high number, because most of the students he has regular run-ins with know better than to tempt fate and end up in a Saturday morning detention.

Snow doesn't recognize a few of the names. He was surprised to see Annie Cresta on the slip of paper, the secretary of the National Honors Society and the captain of the mathematic decathlon squad. And Peeta Mellark, a varsity wrestler, and a genuinely stand-up kid.

But he _was_ expecting Johanna Mason.

"Students," he barks, reveling in the way that his tone makes the newcomers sit up straight in their chairs like their spines have been replaced with steel rods. "Welcome to Saturday morning detention. Let's make sure that we're all where we should be, shall we?"

A hand shoots up in the air, but its owner doesn't wait for permission to speak. "Yeah, Mr. Snow?" The hand belongs to a vaguely familiar-looking kid with a shock of wavy golden hair, and sea-green eyes. "I know I'm supposed to be here, but I don't think that I'm supposed to be—_here."_

Snow almost snorts. The sense of entitlement that these selfish little pricks have. It's almost enough to make him want to retire early.

"Ms. Cresta?" he asks instead, reading off his copy of the attendance list. The slight, timid redhead raises her hand tentatively. "All right. Ms. Everdeen?" He glances up to see a fierce-looking girl chewing on the end of her braid, assumes that this is his mysterious new charge. "And, Ms. Mason. What a pleasure to have you back in detention," he remarks drily.

Johanna rolls her eyes. Actually rolls her eyes. "I'll bet," she scoffs. Snow refuses to take the bait, even though his blood is already boiling.

"Mr. Mellark." The wrestler gives him a grim, tight-lipped smile. "And, Mr. Odair." Snow is a little surprised by this name. From what he's observed in his daily jaunts around the hall, he's gathered that this golden-haired boy is somewhat of a prince in this school. The young women fall at his feet, the boys revere him like a god. No wonder he thinks that he deserves special treatment. In detention, no less.

It's time for a reality check.

"There will be no talking," Snow says, pacing the floor before the slack-jawed students. "There will be no moving from these seats. You will sit here and think about what you've done to deserve this punishment." Here he pauses, surveying the baleful eyes staring back at him. He savors the moment of anticipatory silence, before he drops the bomb. "And you will write a composition of no less than one thousand words reflecting on your misdemeanors."

A collective groan rises from the group. Snow smiles.

"You have eight hours. Use them well, or I will see you all next Saturday," he warns. And just as he's about to walk out of the library, he hears Johanna Mason's voice echoing across the void.

"Fuck that."

Snow whirls around. The girl has her boots propped up on the table, and she's smirking at him. Not the least bit ashamed of herself, or the least bit terrified of the consequences awaiting her. Almost shaking with anger, he storms across the room to where she sits.

"Would you care to repeat yourself, Ms. Mason?" he asks, practically spitting the words out. A cruel smile flits across her lips.

"_Fuck." _Her eyes flash dangerously. _"That." _

He's seething now. The other kids are wide-eyed, staring at their classmate in horror. Or, quite possibly, admiration.

"You've just earned yourself another detention," Snow hisses.

"Boo frickin' hoo."

"Two detentions."

"Ah, shit, is that _two_ weeks from now? Because I'm taking a Girl Scout troupe on a camping trip that weekend, and I'd just _die_ if I had to miss it." Johanna smirks.

"Watch yourself, Ms. Mason," Snow warns. "One more word, and that'll be another detention."

Johanna stretches her arms over her head, yawning. "Color me terrified."

"Are you quite finished?"

She blinks at him.

Snow takes a deep breath and commands himself to stay calm. He's so close to losing his shit, it's not even funny. So he wields his trusty weapon: unnecessary cruelty.

"Students, you can all thank Ms. Mason," Snow says, curling his lips evilly. "She's just added an additional one thousand words to your essays."

He turns on his heel and stalks into his office, calling over his shoulder that he'll be watching them from across the hall, ignoring the cries of indignation trailing behind him.


	3. 7:18 am

_What are you doing here?_

That's the question that Peeta Mellark has printed across the top of his notebook paper in a careful hand.

Only 1,995 words to go. He just doesn't know what to say next.

He picks his pencil up and jiggles it between his thumb and index finger, distracting himself with its movement. He wonders absently how people managed to get pencils stuck in the ceiling. He watches the clock tick by, but it's just not fast enough.

_What are you doing here? _

_I'm here because I _

Peeta sighs and scrubs furiously at the page with his eraser.

_I don't know what I'm doing here. _

Now, that's more accurate.

Satisfied with the amount of work he's managed to complete, he leans back in the unforgiving wooden chair and cranes his neck to look at his fellow cell-mates.

Finnick Odair, seated on his right, is chewing on the end of his pencil while staring off into space. Some mousy-looking girl with wild red curls, set a few tables back behind him, might _actually_ be writing her essay. Peeta watches her scribbling on her paper, muttering to herself under her breath, with a hint of admiration and more than a little disgust. And then there's Johanna Mason, sitting directly behind him. When he glances at her over his shoulder, she shoots him a glare so sharp that he thinks she might be trying to kill him.

He shifts in his seat so that he can peek at the girl sitting at the table all the way in the back corner. The quiet girl with the black braid and the vacant silver eyes.

His heart clenches when he studies her, sitting there. Looking all small and self-contained.

And then, the impossible happens.

She looks directly at him.

It all comes rushing back. The cacophony of the hallways between classes. The cruel laughter. The pinch of pain in his chest at her blooming cheeks. And then, after…

After, the way she looked at him. The same way she's looking at him now.

He hears Johanna snort. When he cuts his eyes over to her, it's impossible to miss the smirk playing on her lips. Peeta narrows his eyes at Johanna, but all the same, he drops Katniss' steady, accusing gaze.

_What am I doing here? _

Burning.


	4. 8:09 am

"Ugh."

No response. Four heads, fixed straight ahead. Like fucking zombies.

Johanna tries again, this time with an exaggerated groan. _"Ugh." _

The prep with shiny hair slowly turns in his chair. He levels Johanna with a bored gaze, and she simply shrugs. "I'm stir-crazy."

"Thought you'd be used to this by now," he returns drily. "You know. Since you spend every weekend here in detention."

Johanna rolls her eyes so hard that she feels a headache coming on. "Oh, look at you, being all fucking superior," she drawls. "You're in detention, too, asshole."

The prep stares at her blankly for a beat, green eyes searching hers for a weak spot, a chink in the armor, as it were. "I don't make a habit of being a fuck-up," he says smoothly.

If Johanna were anyone else, she'd let that comment sting. She might flip him off or tell him to suck a dick just to mask the pain. But her wounds have scabbed over with the passage of time, and she just doesn't care what this guy thinks of her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asks him instead. His confusion registers in his wide green eyes.

"Finnick Odair," he says, but it's with an air of self-importance. And a little disbelief, like he can't imagine that someone in this whole goddamn school doesn't know who he is. When she cocks an eyebrow aggressively, he keeps talking. "I'm president of the student council."

As if Johanna actually gave a shit about student government, or any of those demented extracurriculars. She can think of plenty of other things she'd rather be doing with her time, and none of them would fit anywhere on a college application. Which is fine by her.

"Okay, so I'm a fuck-up," she allows. "But, unlike you, people actually give a shit about me."

Finnick's face flushes angrily. Johanna cackles.

"Would you shut up?" the blond kid in front of her asks flatly, without bothering to turn around. She thinks that maybe he's afraid to look at her again. Afraid of meeting her wicked glare. "Some of us are _trying_ to write an essay."

She takes in his varsity wrestling jacket. Immediately decides that she detests him more than this smarmy student council guy, basically because Finnick Odair has decidedly gorgeous eyes and a ridiculous body. Even if he insists on wearing a polo shirt.

"_Ooh_, the Incredible Hulk wants us to be quiet, guys," Johanna calls tauntingly. The guy's shoulders tense, but he keeps facing forward. So she tries another tack.

"He's gotta focus. When you have a vocabulary of like, six words, it's really fucking hard to write a two thousand word essay. Right?" Now she drops her voice a few octaves, adopting the tonality of a caveman. "'Me do bad things. Me feel sorry.'" She grins wickedly at the back of his reddening neck.

The kid whirls around in his chair. Eyes flashing, filled with rage. "Fuck off!"

"Whoa there, jockstrap. I was just kidding around."

"You know, you're a real bitch, Johanna," Finnick snarls, jumping to the kid's defense. "Everybody's already miserable enough. If you'd do us all a favor and shut the hell up—"

Johanna leaps to her feet, clambering over the desk on her knees to reach Finnick. "Make me."

"We're not supposed to get out of our seats!" the redhead squeaks from the next table over.

Finnick's eyes are hard as he gets up out of his chair. "I'm not fighting you, Johanna."

"Good. Maybe Schwarzenegger over here can actually throw a punch for you."

"Screw you," the wrestler snarls, but the pink tips of his ears peeking out from under his mop of blond curls belie his biting tone.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Snow bellows from his office across the hall. The room rapidly descends into silence as everyone settles back into their seats. But Johanna stays perched atop the desk.

There's palpable tension in the air. But Johanna's not about to apologize for causing a stir.

"Feel free to hate me," she says as she lays down flat across the desk's surface and folds her arms behind her head. "But you know that I'm just being honest."

…


	5. 9:56 am

Annie Cresta has never been a rule-breaker. Not even a rule-bender. Which is why she was horrified when Ms. Coin, the sour secretary in the front office, informed Annie that her excessive tardiness had earned her a Saturday morning detention.

She tried—_really _tried—to write an essay to explain herself. To absolve herself of all wrongdoing. But after about an hour of furious scribbling, Annie realized that there was really nothing to say. Excessive tardiness is unremarkable. She can't wax poetic about her failure to arrive at school on time for two thousand words because there is only so much that she can say.

_I'm sorry. It won't happen again. _

_Did I mention that I'm sorry? _

And then there was that slight distraction. Johanna Mason, stirring up trouble by taunting Finnick Odair, and then Peeta Mellark. Annie worries about the inevitable moment that Johanna shifts the focus to her, finds a wealth of insecurities and hang-ups to target, and exposes them for all the room to see.

There are the usual insecurities. Her frizzy hair, her wide-set eyes, the nearly imperceptible cluster of pink bumps on her forehead. And then there are the insane insecurities that creep in when she's least expecting it, the ones that whisper tauntingly in her ear. _You're a failure. You're worthless. You'll never be good enough, smart enough, strong enough. _It's almost enough to drive her to the brink of insanity.

But currently, she's gnawing on her thumbnail and chastising herself for not being brave enough to tell Johanna Mason off. To haul her ass out of her chair and tell her firmly to leave Finnick Odair alone.

She wanted to. But there was just that crippling fear of the consequences if she broke one of Principal Snow's explicit rules by getting out of her seat. And, worse, the fear of being laughed at.

Not by Johanna. By Finnick.

Oh, God. Her pulse is pounding just thinking about him. Her eyes glide over to him instinctively, and she almost wishes that she hadn't, because the longing is that powerful.

He was in her trig class last year. Annie remembers because she sat in the desk directly behind him. His hair always smelled like… like the ocean. A hint of salt, fresh and clean. And those thick, luxurious golden waves, always within reach, but tantalizingly off-limits. Her fingers itching to rake through it.

Frankly, it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to get through that class with a B-minus.

She doubts he ever noticed her then. Doubts that he would notice her now, even though there are only five other people in this library. Would it matter to him that she's an elected NHS member? That she can find the derivative of a problem set faster than some college students? That, for as long as she can remember, she's been holding out for someone like him?

It doesn't matter. They're here to do penance.

But it is killing her inside, just wondering what exactly he did to end up here.


	6. 10:33 am

Last Finnick checked, swimming in the school's indoor pool wasn't a crime.

Well. As long as you had a pass. During school hours.

And as long as you were wearing swim trunks.

Technically, he hadn't done any of those things. But he was still kind of offended that he was being forced to serve out an eight-hour sentence on Saturday morning.

"Look, I get it. I wasn't supposed to be here after-hours," he'd said, trying to reason with the security officers, a task made difficult by the flashlight burning a hole in his retinas and the pungent chemical smell of chlorine burning his nostrils. It was also kind of difficult to make a logical argument with a flimsy towel wrapped around his naked lower half as he dripped onto the wet pavement. "But Cashmere had a key."

"An unauthorized copy of a key," one of the officers said gruffly.

"Right. I know." Finnick wracked his brain for a way out of this. He was uncommonly persuasive—after all, he'd managed to secure himself the election for student council president last spring—but flashing a dazzling white smile at these two unsmiling, gray guards probably wasn't the right approach. "It's just, uh. I didn't make the key. So I don't really see why I'm being accused here."

The meatier of the two guards grunted. "Because you're the one standing here naked with a key on a lanyard around your neck."

Damn.

But it wasn't his idea to break into the school on a Saturday night. Because that wasn't something that Finnick would do, ordinarily.

It's just that Cashmere Ellis had this power over him, this incredible sexy and rebellious aura about her, that made him say, _"Hell, yeah,"_ when she hijacked their date and coyly suggested that they take a midnight dip in Panem Central's pool. Sans clothes.

Just like Cashmere to leave him naked and stranded in the shallow end with planted evidence just as campus security pulled up.

It's unbelievable to him that she escaped punishment. Because Finnick couldn't prove that the key wasn't his. Because she wasn't at the scene of the crime.

Because her father is Mr. Snow's personal attorney.

And this is going on Finnick's permanent record.

Suffice it to say that he won't be seeing Cashmere again in the foreseeable future.

His father keeps reminding him in a haughty tone that he's lucky that the school isn't pressing charges. And Finnick knows this, because if he thinks that an isolated infraction on his transcript will look bad, what about an appearance in court?

"You almost threw your life away for some girl," his father had snapped on their drive home from the school late that evening. "For a _girl, _Finn. What will it take to get that through your thick skull?"

It's all a little melodramatic. As if an ill-fated late night swim in the school's aquatic center was going to destroy Finnick's life. But that doesn't mean that Finnick isn't feeling particularly stupid sitting here with a bunch of burnouts.

He hasn't attempted to write a single sentence for his essay. All he wants to do is lay his head down on the desk and sleep, but apparently, that's against the rules, too. A surprise visit from Mr. Snow, and a rather violent wake-up call, confirmed that for him.

So there's nothing left to do but stare straight ahead. Avoid Johanna Mason's eyes at all costs. Imagine himself submerged in silky water, his lips trailing down the slender curve of Cashmere's outstretched neck. Her legs unspooling from their warm purchase around his waist, and—

_Shit. _He's already sporting a partial, and he hasn't even allowed his thoughts to wander too far down a dangerous path. For God's sake, he's in a _library_.

Finnick buries his face in his hands. Less than five hours to go, and he's already thoroughly fucked.


	7. 10:49 am

She is so completely over this detention.

Katniss could be bagging groceries the Hob Market, making overtime pay. But, no. She's stuck here in an uncomfortable wooden chair, forced to compose an essay apologizing for her mistakes.

But she's not sorry about what she did. She probably feels less remorse than even Johanna Mason, and she's pretty sure that Johanna doesn't have a soul.

She wants to say that what she did was warranted. People claim self-defense in murder trials all the time; why can't Katniss claim self-preservation in her own case?

Cato Roberts got what he deserved. But she can't help but think that he wasn't the person who deserved her wrath the most. No. The real person escaped, unscathed.

And she will never forgive him.

…

Johanna chooses this moment to vault over her desk and head for the heavy wooden door, currently hanging ajar, at the library's entrance.

"Hey," Peeta calls after her, sitting up straighter in his chair. "What do you think you're doing?"

She turns around to face him, walking backwards now. "Fixing the door."

"What—?" Peeta's jaw hangs open in stunned silence as he watches Johanna start fiddling with the screws on the door hinges. He nudges Finnick's arm, and they both stare, awed, when she extracts a Swiss army knife from her boot.

"The _fuck?"_ Finnick hisses, attracting Annie's and Katniss' attention. Four pairs of eyes are fixed on their bold, brazen peer. "Johanna!"

"Yeah?" Her bored voice echoes across the room.

"What are you _doing?" _Finnick stage-whispers. He's intensely aware of Principal Snow sitting in his office across the hall, his door propped open with a trashcan. "Sit down before he sees you!"

With a final flick of her wrist, Johanna cleanly removes a screw from the hinge. It falls to the carpet with a soft thud, and she kicks it out of sight. As soon as she steps out of the threshold, the door clangs shut behind her. She grins, mischievous.

"What?" Johanna asks innocently, jogging over to her seat. Snow's muffled bellow of utter disbelief echoes down the hall. "I tried to fix it. It just, like, shut. Spontaneously."

She has just barely slid into her seat when Snow comes crashing through the door. His face is crimson, and he's tugging at his tie. "Who did this?" he demands, wheezing for breath. "Who closed this door?"

"I think a screw fell out, sir," Annie pipes up. Johanna's head flicks to the opposite side of the room, where she appraises her meek vocal supporter. She wasn't expecting that.

"Screws don't just fall out of doors," Snow growls, rounding on the wide-eyed girl.

Peeta clears his throat. "I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Snow. It just happened."

Snow is getting angrier by the second. It's kind of terrifying to watch, but if Peeta removes himself from the situation, it's almost comical. He can practically see the steam pouring out of the principal's ears.

"_You." _He narrows his eyes at Johanna. "You did this."

She bats her black-rimmed eyes at him, all too innocent. "No, I didn't."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Ms. Mason." Somehow, Snow manages to maintain some decorum. "Put the screw back."

"I don't have it."

"_Put it back." _

"I said that I don't have it."

"_I'm asking you for the last time!"_

"Sir, we all saw the screw fall out," Finnick offers. "Didn't we?" He glances around the room, searching for confirmation. For complicity.

One by one, heads nod. Peeta, then Johanna, and Annie.

After a pregnant pause, Katniss nods, too.

Snow folds his arms across his chest. "Well. Someone fix the door."

"It's broken, sir."

He huffs. "Fine. I'll just prop it open, then."

They watch as he drags a folding chair into the doorway, and unsuccessfully stifle laughter when the door crunches the metal chair with its force as it slams shut.

Snow tries to move a set of low shelves into the crack, but Johanna speaks up. "You can't do that," she calls. "Fire code violation, or something."

He growls. The students have won. He'll have to settle for checking in on them every half hour. Or something.

As he stalks out of the library, Johanna cheerfully flips him off.


	8. 11:51 am

"How do you do this every Saturday?" Finnick grumbles to Johanna.

She's got her feet propped up on her desk. There's a small cluster around her: the nerd, the letterman, the prep. For some reason, the mute girl in the corner is practically curled up in a ball at her desk, refusing to assimilate. "Oh, _now_ you have some respect."

He grins, and it's so charming that Johanna might actually swoon. If she had feelings, that is. "Credit where credit is due."

Johanna smirks.

"You realize that you could have gotten us in serious trouble," the wrestler says, his face drawn.

"Relax," she says with an eye-roll. "I know what the fuck I'm doing. You think I haven't gotten in trouble with the warden before?"

He bristles. "I still think it was a bad idea."

"Why's that, jockstrap?"

Now he looks positively pissed. "I have a _name_, you know."

"Haven't had the pleasure of being properly introduced," Johanna sneers. "Fine. What's your name?"

"Peeta Mellark."

She has to laugh. It's a pretty stupid name. "As in, pita _bread?" _

"Yeah." He looks sheepish now. "It's a family name. Kind of like an inside joke."

Johanna snorts. "Well. Now I can see why you're here," she quips. "Pretty hard not to get screwed up when your parents name you after _flatbread_."

Peeta actually manages to muster up a grin at that.

She lets her eyes wander the room before they settle on her next target.

"What's her deal?" she asks, nodding toward the corner of the room. The girl is a lump. A silent, unmoving, lump, clad in boring gray clothes.

She doesn't think that she imagines Peeta's wince.

"Don't know," Finnick yawns. "Never seen her before."

"I think her name's Katniss," the redhead—whose name is Annie, apparently— offers brightly, directing her words at Finnick. Much to Johanna's amusement, he doesn't appear to notice this girl's desperate bid for his attention.

"Whatever," Johanna shrugs. She tips her chair back so that her body is parallel to the ground. "So. What'd you all do to get in here?"

…

She hears her name. Doesn't hear it issuing from Peeta's mouth, which is a relief. Katniss doesn't want her name handled by such a coarse tongue.

They're all swapping stories about how they got saddled with detention. Finnick's is preposterous—something about getting caught naked in the indoor pool after hours—and Annie's is excessively dull. While Johanna's regaling the group with her own story about cursing out her sociology teacher in front of her entire class, Katniss is wondering about what Peeta will say.

And praying that they won't ask for her story.

But it seems improbable that they don't already know. News travels fast in this school. She's sure that everyone knew that Cato had to be wheeled down to the nurse's office within seconds of it actually happening. Maybe they don't know why it happened—and God, she hopes that they don't—but they _have _to know.

"…so I just told Ms. Trinket to shut the fuck up," Johanna cackles. "You should have seen her face. Sixteen different shades of purple. Practically matched her hairpiece."

Annie splutters. "You—you actually _said _that?"

"I did." Johanna's tone is smug. "She was being fucking ridiculous. Reaming me out in front of everyone for not turning in my work on time, or some shit. Like that's gonna make me want to start showing up to that class."

"Whoa." Annie's clearly intimidated, maybe a little impressed.

"Whatever," Finnick says dismissively. "I think getting caught in the pool with your junk hanging out is a hell of a lot worse than _that." _

"Would have been a lot more impressive if you were in the middle of fucking some girl's brains out," Johanna points out. "Now _that_ would have been a great story."

"That's classy, Johanna," Peeta says suddenly, his voice making Katniss' heart jump into her throat. "Real classy."

She hears Johanna scoff. "Yeah, sure. Like you're some kind of saint," she says. "What did you do, anyway?"

Peeta coughs lightly. "I, uh. Well. It was nothing."

"Oh, come on. You had to have done _something_," Finnick goads. "Why else would you be here?"

"Really, it's nothing."

"Yeah, what did you do?" Annie presses.

"Guys." Peeta's starting to get agitated.

"Don't be such a pussy," Johanna says, taunting him. "We all talked. Now it's your turn."

He sighs heavily. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Johanna—"

Snow's footsteps echo down the hallway, effectively cutting short their scintillating discussion. Katniss breathes a sigh of relief into her sweater sleeve.

"There will be a thirty minute break for lunch," Snow announces, after prying the wooden door open with some considerable effort. "Be sure to clean up your area after you are finished eating. If I find any crumbs, you will spend an extra hour in detention."

"Wait, we're eating here?" Peeta interjects. "Wouldn't it make more sense to eat in the cafeteria?"

Snow sighs. "No. I don't want the five of you leaving this room."

"But what if we need to get something to drink?" Johanna calls out. "Seriously. If I'm eating a tuna fish sandwich on rye and I don't have something to wash it down with, I could choke."

"Your humor is not appreciated here, young lady."

"I'm not fucking joking," Johanna shoots back. "Do you think I would joke about something as serious as choking on a sandwich?"

There's a long pause. A sigh. "Fine. I'll need someone to get drinks for the whole group."

"I'll go." Johanna's feet pound the floor as she jumps out of her chair.

"Not you, Ms. Mason. I don't trust you as far as I can throw," Snow hisses. "Mr. Mellark, you may go down the hall to the vending machine."

"All right."

Snow raps his knuckles against the door. "Not so fast. I'm not sending you out there alone."

It's as if Katniss hears it before he's even gotten the words out. "You, in the back. Ms. Everdeen."

Her heart constricts in her throat. She can't breathe.

_No. Not with him. _

_Don't make me go with him. _

Snow whistles, a shrill sound that makes her sit up straight in her seat. "Look alive. Get up." When Katniss hesitates, the principal narrows his eyes at her. "I don't have all day, Ms. Everdeen."

She is so screwed.


	9. 12:02 pm

This is literally Katniss' worst nightmare.

The last thing that she wants is to be alone with Peeta Mellark. And, as fate would have it, she's been thrown together with him again.

You would think that her body language would be enough of a clue that she doesn't want to talk. She keeps her eyes fixed ahead, skims the lockers with her shoulder as she walks, crosses her arms tightly over her chest. The negative energy is practically radiating from her skin.

But obviously, Peeta's too dim to understand.

"Weird day," he says at one point, breaking the tense silence between them.

Katniss pretends not to hear and hums under her breath.

He tries again when they pause in front of the vending machine near the cafeteria, noisily jangling the quarters in his palm. "So, uh. What do you want to drink?" he asks, laughing uncomfortably. "Pick your poison."

Oh, he shouldn't tease like that.

"I don't care," Katniss mutters. The first words she's spoken all day, and to Peeta Mellark, no less. "Get whatever you want."

"Okay," he says, his voice shaking a little. She actually turns to look at him for the first time since she caught him staring at her this morning. God, his cheeks are actually flaming. What the hell does _he_ have to be embarrassed about? "You sure?"

Katniss rolls her eyes. So _now_ he's all chivalrous, now that it's just the two of them, alone. Where was that attitude on Thursday afternoon?

"Like I said, I don't care," she snaps. "Would you hurry up?"

Peeta's eyes widen when she loses her cool, but he starts feeding coins into the machine anyway. He shouldn't look so scandalized. They both know that she's capable of doing much worse.

…

"What do you think's taking them so long?" Annie wonders aloud, picking absently through her paper bag lunch. A peanut butter sandwich with the crusts cut off, a Macintosh apple, and a chocolate chip cookie. All that's missing is a drink.

"Who knows?" Johanna grumbles, sliding into the chair next to Annie. She pilfers the cookie out of Annie's bag without comment and takes a bite before making a face and setting it back down on the table. "I'll bet you anything that they're hate-fucking in the bathroom. You should have seen the way they were looking at each other earlier."

Annie's face flushes red enough to match her hair. She's just not used to hearing people speak so crassly. It's not like her friends on the decathlon team say things like that off-hand. "I'm sure they're not," she mumbles, trying to play off her mortification with a casual shrug.

"Look at you," Johanna says with a sneer. "You're so fucking _pure_, aren't you?"

She's indignant. "I'm _not!" _Annie insists, but somehow, she manages to flush even more deeply than before. "I just—don't think that we should be talking about other people's business."

Johanna tips her head back as she laughs. "Oh—oh, my God," she gasps, swiping at her watering eyes when she manages to regain her composure. "What, are you like twelve years old?"

Annie frowns at the table. "No." And then she takes a bite of a triangle slice of her peanut butter sandwich.

"This is _too_ _much_," Johanna cackles. "You're in high school. You can't seriously be this innocent, can you?" She cocks an eyebrow at Annie. "_Can _you?"

Annie doesn't know how to respond.

"I bet you're a virgin," Johanna says, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. "Wait. I bet you've never even kissed a guy before." She watches Annie closely for any sign of weakness, a cruel smirk on her lips. "Am I right?"

Just when Annie thinks that she's about to die of embarrassment, Finnick chooses this exact moment to stroll over to the table from the back of the library. "What are we talking about?" he asks, dropping himself into the seat across from Johanna.

Annie can scarcely breathe.

"We're discussing the legions of men that Annie over here has lured into her bed," Johanna says with an eye-roll. "Go on, Annie. Tell Finnick _all _about it."

She responds with a painful blush and lowers her eyes to the floor.

"Lay off her, Johanna," Finnick says sharply after a moment of silence. "Seriously. Can you be cool for even two seconds?"

Johanna scoffs. "Just trying to make conversation," she says, but even so, she rises from her seat and stalks off toward the cluster of couches in the center of the room.

Annie lifts her eyes tentatively. Finnick is miraculously sitting across from her. And, _dear God, _he's actually looking at her. She feels herself starting to melt under his steady gaze.

"Sorry about her," Finnick whispers. He leans in across the table conspiratorially. "I don't know if you know this, but she can be kind of a bitch sometimes."

When Annie manages to chuckle, she is rewarded with a gentle smile.

"Thanks," she says. She means it in more ways than one.

Finnick's eyes scan her face. She feels a twinge in her chest when he frowns, wondering what he sees, which flaw he's fixating on. But then he says something miraculous.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asks, knotting his eyebrows together. "You look really familiar."

Annie nods. A little too eagerly, but she can't help herself. "Trig class," she says shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "With Mr. Latier. I sat behind you, near the window."

She isn't expecting the flash of recognition in his eyes. "Oh! You were, like, his favorite," Finnick says with a grin. "God. You put the rest of us to shame."

Annie flushes with pride. And, okay, maybe she's internally screaming that Finnick Odair noticed her. "I wouldn't say that," she hedges. She doesn't mention how many times he drove her to distraction in that class. How easy it was to let everything else go.

"Agree to disagree," he says with a smile. That perfect, shiny smile that sparks heat in her stomach. "Well, _Annie_, I have to say. I never would have thought in a million years that we'd end up in here together."

_Oh. _Her heart soars. "Me neither."

"Guess you'll have to work on that excessive tardiness issue, if you want to avoid coming here again."

She fights a smile unsuccessfully. But could you blame her? He _remembers_ these tiny details about her.

"What about you?" she hears herself teasing him back. "With that whole—um." Damn, she can't bring herself to say it without blushing at the thought of him. Emerging from the pool, dappled by the moonlight streaming in through the bay windows, little water droplets clinging to the ends of his golden hair, and his taut muscles—

"Yeah, I'll have to try to stay off school property after hours," he says with a shrug. "Or, I don't know. I'll have to start keeping better company."

Annie bites her lip.

"Are you two gonna screw already, or what?" Johanna calls from the couch, her legs draped over the back. They look at each other and sigh.

But Annie doesn't think that she imagines the color rising in his cheeks.


End file.
